


The Crow and the Monkey

by NuttyHazelnut



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, Drama, Lemon, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuttyHazelnut/pseuds/NuttyHazelnut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now an accomplished author,  Fushimi is suffering from writer's block and is ordered by his editor to go on vacation where he learns that the past is only too happy to chase his sorry ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paradise?

_Once, there was a monkey. He wasn’t like any monkeys you’d often hear or read about. He wasn’t one with a cheeky grin and a huge laugh, like monkeys were always thought to have, nor was he always in the company of others. In fact, he was always quiet, always alone. That is, until he met a certain crow.  Now this crow was your typical crow. A loudmouth, annoying, bird brain. One day he met the monkey by chance, found him peculiar, and decided to stick to him. The monkey found all of this annoying of course, with the crow disrupting his quiet way of life. Though gradually, he himself felt attached to the crow. He looked forward to spending his time with the crow. He was, for possibly the first time in his life, happy. However, as gradual as it took for the monkey to get attached to the crow, there budded inside him a dislike for his friend. They were simply too different. The crow was too bright, too happy, in contrast to him that preferred solitude in the shadows. He began to drift apart from the crow. The crow noticed his actions of course, as any friend would. One day he confronted the monkey. The monkey was aware that the crow would do anything to try and fix whatever there was left of their friendship even though he did nothing wrong. The monkey knew what he had to do. He had to hurt the crow. So, he did. He said venomous words to the crow. Some he meant some he didn’t. The crow grew mad at him for what he said, just as he had planned. They were separated since then, never to see each other’s faces. The end._

“This is the worst manuscript for a children’s book ever,” Munakata said as he slammed his laptop shut. Fushimi had sent that to him via email last night, seconds before the deadline. Now this, for Fushimi, was a rare case. Usually Fushimi had finished his work ample time before the deadline. Even if he did slip up at times and barely make the cut, his works were still nothing short of magnificent. His latest submission, however, was… well… shit. It was nothing he’d expect from someone of Fushimi’s writing prowess, even if it wasn’t his usual style. No one had heard of a best-selling thriller novel author wanting to write a children’s book before.  Admittedly, Munakata was quite excited to see how this was going to turn out. The results, however, were nothing but dismal. He pushed his glasses up with his index finger.

“Are you even trying? As your editor I am utterly disappointed.”

Fushimi was on the receiving end of Munakata’s office desk, head and arms rested on the corner. He raised his head up as if with great effort, his usual thick-framed glasses replaced by shades. He lowered the shades until its bridge was touching the tip of his nose and glared at Munakata.

“Can you shut up for a bit?” Fushimi said, head returning to its spot on the desk.

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” Fushimi replied, his voice muffled by the arm his head was resting on. “Can you shut up for a bit?”

At that point Munakata’s patience was on the verge of snapping. Big shot or not, this wasn’t the way to talk to your editor. Still, he managed to keep a bit of his cool. He knew that getting angry at Fushimi would only make matters worse.

“Listen, Fushimi,” Munakata said, his tone raising a little. “I’m trying to _help_ you. Though no matter how much help I give it’ll be pointless if you don’t give me shit.”

“Mnn…” Fushimi replied weakly.

Munakata sighed. The shades and the strange demeanor. He knew why Fushimi was particularly off this fine morning. “Goddammit… you’re hungover aren’t you?”

Fushimi nodded slightly. “Took you long enough. My head pounds like hell whenever you talk.”

“We’ve been over this,” Munakata replied. “No late night drinks before meetings. Is that why you sent me that piece of shit manuscript?”

“Yeouch.” Fushimi says as he raises his head with an expression of mock hurt. “Won’t you at least spare my feelings?”

“That coming from a cold-hearted bastard? Total bull.”

“You got that right.”

To be completely honest, Fushimi thought his latest work was bullshit too. His worst, even. He’d been stuck on that manuscript for a month, writing and re-writing it countless times. He’d been drinking to get his mind working, maybe get some drunken inspiration somewhere. But alas, that alcohol consumption was all for naught. It turns out inspiration for children’s books come in a different manner than his usual thriller novels. There was just something off about his latest story. Probably because the real, true-to-life story that it was based on was a topic he deemed touchy and irritating. Plus it never really got proper closure; a page in his life he tried to forcefully and desperately to move on from.

“So, back on topic,” Munakata said, cutting Fushimi’s internal monologue. “What’s with the manuscript?”

“I… I think I have it.”

“What? AIDS?”

“Haha, very funny. Never knew you had it in you to joke.”

“You just never had the time to appreciate my brilliance,” Munakata said, pushing up the bridge of his glasses again, a habit Fushimi had noticed he did when he was being serious.

“Uh yeah… what I have... I think it’s writer’s block.”

Munakata’s attention was at the unfinished puzzle on his desk.

“Yes, hmm… It was about time you hit the brick wall. Perfect timing too.”

“Is there ever perfect timing to hit a brick wall?”

“In your case, yes. Figuratively of course. Awashima’s wedding is coming up.”

That completely slipped Fushimi’s mind. Seri Awashima, Munakata’s secretary and possibly the cruellest, most merciless bitch on the planet, was getting married in a week’s time. He couldn’t believe that he had a tiny crush on her when he first started working with Munakata. Bitch or not, he had to admit that she was pretty, and that it was exactly that heartless bitch quality that made her so good at her job. She was always the one who harassed (effectively) Munakata’s writers to submit on time. Fushimi couldn’t count the times he submitted early just so he could dodge her wrath. Even more unbelievable was the fact that someone actually wanted to marry her. The day she gave out her wedding invitations at work was the day he swore his jaw dropped to the floor. If he remembered correctly, the soon-to-be groom was some rich guy who owned a bar. Kusanagi Izumo, was it? Yes, that was his name. That bastard is going to have one hell of a time when they get hitched, in more ways than one. It made him happy to know that her cruelty was now going to be directed at another person.

“What about her wedding?” Fushimi asked.

“It’s going to be by the beach, remember? You could use the vacation time.”

“Who said I was going?”

“Oh you _are_ going. As an order from me.”

“No way. It’s too far.”

That was the thing with the wedding. It was going to be held at a beach eight hours south of Shizume City. The area was secluded; no trains had a direct line to it. The best way to get there was to travel by car. Fushimi _did_ own a car, though there was no way in hell he was driving for that long. He didn’t even have a hotel reservation yet. Rich as that Izumo guy may be, he was still too cheap to pay for his guests’ accommodations. Not that it was much of a problem, with the guests invited mostly rich bastards.

“You lazy prick.” Munakata said, flicking a puzzle piece at Fushimi. “You could hitch a ride with me. Plus I’m sure you haven’t had a reservation yet so I already got one for you.”

“You sure have a way of making people do as you say haven’t you?”

“Of course. I’d fail at my job if I didn’t.”

“Oh yeah, why couldn’t we just share a room? Isn’t that cheaper?”

“No. I’ve had enough of you. Cut me some slack.”

Fushimi smirked. “Heh. You just don’t want me to interrupt whatever hot gay sex you’re having with some random dude from the beach.”

Munakata slammed his hand on the desk. “If there’s one thing I forbid you to joke about it’s my sexual identity.”

“I thought you were out?” Fushimi replied. He noticed a little blush on Munakata’s face.

“I _am_ out. And just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’ll fuck any guy who wants to.”

“Oooh. Chaste, aren’t we?”

“Shut it Fushimi.”

Munakata stood up, yanked Fushimi by the arm, and led him out of his office. Seems like he’d had enough of his hungover author.

“Ha ha. I’m sorry okay?”

“Apology not accepted. Just get out. We leave two days before the wedding. I’ll pick you up that morning.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Hmph.”

Munakata slammed the door at Fushimi’s face, hitting his nose. He’d gone overboard, that Fushimi couldn’t deny. Munakata will get over it though, as always. Whenever Fushimi crossed the line he’d only be mad around two days tops. He was unexpectedly kind that way. Another way he showed his kindness was allowing Fushimi some down time before getting back to work. Most authors would be told to stop being a baby and get back to work. Cold as he may be, Munakata was Fushimi’s blessing in disguise in the writing world. He had to admit it; Munakata was the one who saved his ass in various occasions throughout his author life. It was something he’s yet to thank Munakata for. Well, that is, if he wasn’t sure he’d be made fun of for being damn sappy.

Fushimi trailed the long hallway leading to the elevator. Finally, he could get back home and get some sleep to cure his hangover. He jabbed the down button with his thumb. Mere seconds later and the elevator doors opened. Lucky for him there was no one inside. He went inside and pushed the button for the ground floor. The elevator doors shut almost instantly afterwards. As if with perfect timing, his phone beeped when the elevator doors fully shut. He took the phone out of his pocket, the screen reading that he had a new message from an unknown number. He unlocked his phone with a swipe and read the message.

\---

**New Message from Unknown Number**

**11:21 am**

Hi.

This is Yata.

I don’t know if this is still your phone number but yeah, hi anyways.

How are you?

\---

Fushimi grit his teeth and deleted the message. Really, after four years he still had the nerve to say hi? That dense motherfucker will never learn, he thought. Nor did he learn apparently, for still using the same number after saying that he wanted to cut all ties. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt angry. Whatever the reason for his anger was, he was sure he was angrier at himself more than anyone else.

The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors opened. He trotted angrily to the parking lot, entered his car, and drove back to his flat.

\---

 As if Karma had punished him for deleting that message, the supposedly fifteen-minute drive back to his flat became an hour and a half long due to a traffic jam. Fucking lunch rush. Fushimi found himself exhausted as he finally parked his car. He dragged his hungover self up the stairs until he reached the third floor, where his flat was located at the end of the hallway. He reached for the key in his pocket, inserted it in the door knob, and made his way in. The flat was dark even at daytime, as the windows were covered with heavy drapery. It was very bare to the point where only around forty percent of it can be considered occupied. In the living room was a couch where Fushimi slept, a wall-mounted flat screen TV, a lamp, a wardrobe, and a small coffee table. The kitchen was also bare, decorated only by a dusty stove, a dinnerware set still in its box, a coffee maker, a refrigerator and a microwave.  Fushimi owned nothing else aside from the items listed. He never really found it essential to decorate his flat. It was only a place to sleep in, bathe, and eat after all. He never considered it a home.

Fushimi slipped his shoes off and plunked down the sofa. It was velvet, very comfortable. Damn the tiredness and hangover. He rested his head against a pillow and soon caught the sleep he thought he deserved.   

\---

Nothing much happened in the five-day free window before Munakata came to pick Fushimi up. He’d begin the day as he usually does: in the afternoon. He’d grab whatever was edible on the fridge, heat it up in the microwave, and put it in his mouth with no regard for its taste. It was just something to keep his stomach at bay anyway. He’d spend the rest of the day lounging on the couch, surfing through channels on his TV while his laptop rested on his lap, his shitty unfinished story on its screen. No matter how he tried no words formed from his brain. Night would fall and he wouldn’t have formed a single sentence. He’d sigh in frustration and shut off his laptop. He’d fall asleep.  Rinse and repeat.

Munakata came to pick him up early in the morning. Around 5:30 am, to be exact. The sun had barely risen in the horizon. Fushimi answered the door immediately after Munakata rang the doorbell. When the door swung open he couldn’t help but smile. Munakata was totally in vacation mode. He wore a white collared shirt with yellow horizontal stripes, khaki shorts, and blue boat shoes. He was the total opposite of Fushimi, who wore a black dress shirt, black jeans, and black sneakers. Munakata’s glasses were nowhere to be seen either, replaced by a pair of shades that hung on the collar of his shirt.

“Are you sure we’re not going to die with you driving?” Fushimi said, motioning to his own glasses.

 “Are you sure you’re not going to die from the heat in what you’re wearing?” Munakata said, eyeing Fushimi’s rather odd beach outfit.

“I’m fine.” Fushimi replied. “So _are_ we going to die or is your eyesight miraculously restored?”

“Contacts. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

With the suitcase he packed the night before in hand and a brown leather knapsack resting on his shoulders, Fushimi left his flat with Munakata. The latter had parked his car across the street. It was a car that very much screamed Munakata. A black Camaro. Expensive, sleek, and sexy. If both of their cars were humans Munakata’s would be a supermodel compared to Fushimi’s hobo of a Nissan. Munakata placed Fushimi’s luggage in the car’s trunk and started the engine. Fushimi sat shotgun, feet propped up on the dashboard.

“Feet off,” Munakata said, hitting Fushimi’s legs with his hand.

Fushimi did as he was told without a snarky remark. They fastened their seatbelts before Munakata shifted the gear to drive and put his foot on the gas. God, this was going to be a long trip, he thought.

“How long are we staying for again?” Fushimi asked.

“A week.”

“A week?” Fushimi groaned. He could only take so much of sunny beach paradise. “Are you serious?”

“Just shut up and be happy you get a week off. Normal people would be more than exhilarated.”

“Well then _yay._ Thank you so much for the vacation Munakata.” Fushimi said mockingly.

“I’d like it better if you refer to me as overlord.”

“You’re already bossing me around as an editor. What more do you want?”

“For you to stop the sass.”

“Oh I am _so_ not sassy.”

“Hn. And I’m not gay.”

The rest trip was quiet after that. The only noise came from the radio, which Munakata had tuned into an AM station broadcasting some news read by a monotone newscaster. Ugh, so typical of him, Fushimi thought. When he couldn’t take the sound of monotony and Munakata yelling something about how the stock market was crashing anymore he decided to play some music. He took out his IPod and his headphones from his knapsack, staring quite long at the second item. They were white with black padding on the inside. One could easily notice that the headphones were quite old, with scratches everywhere and the original ear padding replaced.  No matter how old they were Fushimi didn’t have the heart to throw them out. They weren’t his to begin with, anyway. Four years ago their original owner had left them at his place, right before he never saw that person ever again. He’d held onto them for safekeeping... and as a memento of sorts. He slipped on them on and selected a playlist from the IPod that was left there by the very same person who left the headphones, a thing he did from time to time.

Halfway through the road trip Munakata pulled over to gas up. The both of them had lunch at the gas station... and a trip to the bathroom. With the gas tank and their bellies full and their bladders empty, they left the station. Fushimi returned to his shotgun position with his arm rested on the car door’s armrest and looked out the window with the playlist he chose on his IPod on repeat.

\---

Fushimi guessed that he dozed off at some point on the latter half of the trip because when came to, a magnificent beachfront was staring at him in the face. That and Munakata was nudging him by the shoulder.

“We’re here,” Munakata said, unfastening his seatbelt.

He and Fushimi got out of the car. The weather outside was tropical. Damn, Fushimi’s legs felt like jelly after sitting in a car for that long. He surmised that Munakata had it worse. Just when he was about to pity the guy Munakata laughed at him.

“Told you you’d feel hot in what you’re wearing,” Munakata said, still laughing as he put his shades on. “You just got out of the car and you’re already breaking a sweat.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue in annoyance. Munakata was right. It was fucking hot in what he was wearing.

“Fine I’ll take it off,” Fushimi replied, unbuttoning his dress shirt. He noticed Munakata was staring at him rather intently.

“Sorry to burst your bubble but I’m wearing an undershirt.”

“A shame I don’t get to see your unfit upper body then,” Munakata chided.

Hmph. Fushimi had to admit Munakata won that one. Fushimi stuffed his dress shirt in his knapsack (folding it properly first), revealing the white round-neck tee he wore inside. He placed the headphones and the IPod back as well.

“I just hope you have actual beach clothes to wear,” Munakata said.

“Don’t worry you’ll get to see my bare unfit torso at some point,” Fushimi replied, touching Munakata’s shoulder in mock seduction, an action Munakata replied to by reeling his shoulder back.

“Stop that. We’re going.” he said coldly.

Fushimi knew that one more push in the wrong direction and he’d have to figure out how to get home by himself. He dropped the issue and followed Munakata to the car’s trunk, where the latter got out their suitcases. After shutting the trunk, Munakata locked the car and walked to the direction of a boat waiting by the shore. Fushimi followed suit.

“Wait, shouldn’t we check in at the hotel first?” he asked.

Munakata pointed straight ahead. Fushimi traced where his finger was pointing, finding that Munakata was pointing at an island about a few kilometres off the beach’s shore.

“ _That’s_ where we’re going,” Munakata replied.

“Is it any different from this beach?”

“Haven’t been there before, but they say it’s way better than this one.”

“Oh joy.” Fushimi said sarcastically.

The two of them walked on the sand, suitcases in hand, to the direction of the boat waiting for them on the shore.  This is why Fushimi hated the beach. It was hot as hell and grains of sand kept trying to invade his shoes. When they reached the boat the boatman greeted them and helped them haul their luggage in. They clambered aboard, grateful that their long journey was almost over.

All in all it took around half an hour to get to the island, with the boat stopping at random when the current was too strong. When they reached shore Fushimi understood what Munakata meant by “way better.” If he thought the beach back at mainland was magnificent, this was perfect. Exactly what island paradise would be like. The water was warm and a light shade of beautiful blue-green. The sand was white and felt like powder. Fucking powder. None of that grainy sand back at mainland. This was actually sand you’d love to step on and bury you feet in. Palm trees lined the beach, serving to shade beach-goers. There were even hammocks tied between some trees. What made it even more perfect was its modernity. Hotels and shops were lined along the beach front to the convenience of tourists, nothing Fushimi’s expect from such a secluded place. It was island paradise with the convenience of the modern world. He had to admit he was fairly impressed.

“If you’re done jaw-dropping, we really should get to our hotel,” Munakata said, tapping Fushimi by the shoulder.

The hotel wasn’t far from where they were dropped off, around a five-minute walk or so. Still even with his dress shirt removed Fushimi couldn’t bare the heat. He was sweating buckets, to the amusement of Munakata. It was fun to see Fushimi squirm for a change. That is, until they entered the hotel (it was airconditioned) and he saw the latter’s face brimming with gratitude to the gods... or as far as Fushimi’s normally poker-faced expressions go. The hotel was luxurious. The lobby alone was decadent. The chairs were cushioned with satin, the tables were mahogany, and the tiles were marble. Chandeliers even hung from the ceiling, making it seem as though you were in a palace rather than a hotel by the beach. Munakata was the one who checked in for the both of them, as Fushimi was slumped on one of the chairs. _Damn, he just won’t change won’t he?_ Munakata thought. Once done he threw Fushimi’s keycard at his face.

“I’m in room 409 if you need anything,” he said, already walking towards the elevator.

“Hn.” mumbled in response, not moving an inch from where he sat. He was pretty sure that Munakata was going to take a long nap, seeing as he was going to do as well. If he was tired from the trip then Munakata must’ve been beyond exhausted. He took his phone from his pocket to check the time. It was 2:47 in the afternoon. Perfect siesta time.

Fushimi removed the keycard (that was perfectly balanced) on his face and stood up. His room was the one next to Munakata’s: room 410. He followed Munakata’s footsteps and walked towards the elevator. Once he got to the floor, he noticed that the odd-numbered rooms were on the left side of the hall while the even-numbered ones were on the right, meaning that his room was adjacent to Munakata’s. 402... 404...406...408...410. Here we go. Looks like Munakata’s already has the “do not disturb” sign on his door. Fushimi inserted the keycard inside the slot. The machinery on the doorknob beeped and a small light turned green, signalling that the door was unlocked. Upon entering, Fushimi shut the door after him and put the keycard on the power slot. Munakata sure knew how to pick a room. It was like Fushimi’s flat, except it was fully furnished and had a bedroom. There was also a terrace with a view of the hotel’s pool. Since it was such a rare occasion, Fuhsimi decided to use the bedroom for once in his life. He dumped his suitcase on the floor and flomped on the bed. Hey, they even had a tiny mint on the pillow. He took the piece of candy, unwrapped it, and put in his mouth. The next thing he knew he was asleep.

\---

Fushimi woke up to the sound of banging on his door. He felt alarmed for a moment, until he looked through the peep hole and found out it was only Munakata. Only... Munakata looked furious. He opened the door.

“What the hell Fushimi!?” Munakata said, sounding like a nagging mom. “I’ve been trying to get through to you for an hour!”

“Huh?” Fushimi replied, still rubbing sleep from his eye.

“Check your phone.”

Fushimi did as he was asked. He had one unread message from Seri and fifteen missed calls from Munakata. (He slept through all that?) What came over him was a fear similar to when you get missed calls from your mother. He swallowed his saliva before he spoke.

“So... what’s up?”

“What’s up?” Munakata asked, pushing up his now-returned normal glasses. “I’ve been knocking on your door for half an hour that’s what! Christ.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Come on-“ Munakata looked at Fushimi from head to toe. “Are you really going to wear _that_?”

“Something wrong with this?”

“You did get Awashima’s text, right?”

“Saw it just now. Haven’t read it yet.”

“Irresponsible idiot.” Munakata mumbled as he barged inside Fushimi’s hotel room. He grabbed the latter’s knapsack and took out the dress shirt.

“Wear this,” he said, tossing it to Fushimi. “A number of the guests are already here so Awashima invited us out for dinner and drinks.”

“She’s already here?”

“She’s been here since yesterday. Now get dressed.”

Fushimi did as he was told and buttoned up the dress shirt. Aside from the return of the normal glasses, Fushimi also noticed that Munakata’s beach wear was gone, replaced by something formal. He wore a dark blue suit with a white dress shirt underneath. He looked more like normal editor Munakata now.

They left the room after Fushimi was done fixing up. The little get-together was going to be held at a restaurant a ten-minute walk west of their hotel, or at least that was what the concierge had said when they asked. When they got out the sky was dark and the temperature was cool, in contrast to when they had first arrived.

“Hey Munakata,” Fushimi said. “What time is it?”

Munakata looked at his watch. “Seven fourteen.”

So he’d slept for that long, Fushimi thought. He didn’t know he was that tired.

The both of them were silent for the rest of the walk. Fushimi, as a writer who was looking for inspiration, was avidly observing his surroundings.  Even though it was June, only a few people seem to be in the vacationing in the island. Must be because as modern as it looks it was still a pain to get there. He’d spot only a few tourists walking by the shoreline or night swimming. Nonetheless the shops were still bustling. The beachfront was lined with them, each shining brightly as if to lure customers in like moths. Even at night this place was beautiful, Fushimi thought.

The concierge was right about it being a ten-minute walk. All the while he had just been following Munakata since he still hadn’t read Awashima’s the message. He didn’t even know what the name of the place they were going to was, though he knew he were there even without it. Munakata had stopped in his tracks once they a rather rustic two-storey building. The first floor looked like it was made from brick while the second floor was made of wood. Fushimi could see some figures on the second floor, so he guessed that the get-together was to be held there. Outside hung a wooden sign with a picture of a wine bottle that read _Vino._

“An Italian bar huh?” Fushimi said. “Not bad.”

The two of them entered. The Italian bartender who was wiping stemware at the counter greeted them _benvenuto_ and pointed upstairs. He already knew why they were there. When they got to the second floor they were immediately noticed by Awashima and the unknown guy next to her. The two came up to them. The man had short blond hair and wore thin-framed shades even at night time. He wore an unbuttoned black jacket with a long-sleeved collared shirt underneath, blue jeans held up with a brown belt with an oddly designed buckle, and black shoes with white padding on the nose. He guessed that the guy had to be Kusanagi, the groom-to-be. Fushimi didn’t know that this was her type. Overall he looked ok, though not exactly what Fushimi thought Seri was attracted to. Also he smelled lightly of cigarette, indicating that he was a smoker. Kusanagi smiled when he noticed that Fushimi was analyzing him.

“We’ve never met before, have we?” he asked Fushimi.

“No, you haven’t.” Awashima answered for him coldly. Coldness aside, Fushimi noticed that she was exceptionally pretty tonight. Her dress was simple. She wore a vintage royal blue sleeveless square neck dress that reached up to her knees. But it was elegant. Her normally pinned up hair was let down too, falling in waves just a few inches below her shoulders. She looked nothing like the heartless woman he would meet up with for work.

“Nice to see you too Seri,” Fushimi said.

“Kusanagi Izumo,” Kusanagi cut, stretching his arm out for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Fushimi Saruhiko,” Fushimi replied, shaking Izumo’s hand. “Likewise.”

“Oh so you’re _that_ Fushimi Seri always complains about.”

Fushimi was about to come up with a witty comeback when he noticed Seri glaring at him. He scrapped his plan.

“Yes, I’m _that_ pain-in-the-ass Fushimi,” he tried to joke.

Kusanagi chuckled. “Well I like you already. Wanna get some drinks?”

Before Fushimi could protest, Kusanagi put one arm over his shoulder and dragged him away, leaving Munakata and Seri to talk amongst themselves. As he walked/dragged along Kusanagi, it was then that he learned two very important life lessons:

  1. Karma is a bitch
  2. The past would only be too happy to chase you



Looking at him now was a pair of bewildered eyes he never thought he’d see again.

“Misaki,” he said.

“Saru...hiko.” Yata replied.


	2. Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crow and the monkey find themselves starring in their own version of "The Hangover"

Shit this was going to be a long and awkward night.

“Oh so you know each other?” Kusanagi butt in.

“Yeah...” Fushimi replied, finally breaking eye contact with Yata. “Small world, huh?” he added, trying to hide the fact that he was absolutely tongue-tied. He didn’t know what to say anymore, which was a first.

“I-“

“Wah it’s Fushimi!” a familiar voice called out behind him. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not for the interruption.

Behind him was a blond man whose face was obstructed from view due to the handheld camcorder he was holding. Still it was camcorder that made him immediately recognizable.

“Totsuka,” he said, forcing a smile. “Been a while.”

He hoped that nobody noticed that he was dripping cold sweat. To have a chapter in your life you forcibly closed suddenly thrust back at you was definitely something to be anxious about. Throw an extreme feeling guilt suddenly swelling up from whatever depths of yourself you hid it in into the mix and you’d want to crawl into a hole and die.

Luckily Fushimi liked living.

Grin and bear it, he thought.

“To think that we’d run into you in a situation like this,” Totsuka replied, moving his hand that held the camcorder to the side so that Fuhsimi could get a glimpse of his smiling face. The difference was that his was genuine.

“I’m guessing that Mikoto and the others are here too?” Fushimi asked.

“Yeah. They just went out for a while.”

Great. Just fucking great. Exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“That’s great,” he lied.

“Oy! Why didn’t you tell me you knew him and too?” Kusanagi chided, slapping Fushimi’s shoulder.

“You didn’t ask,” he said, rubbing with his hand the spot where Kusanagi hit him.

“Ooooh, cheeky,” Kusanagi replied, grinning. “So how _did_ you get to know Totsuka and Yata-chan?”

“Don’t call me Yata-chan!” Yata yelled, bringing himself back into the conversation.

“I met Totsuka when I worked for Mikoto back in high school.” Fushimi said, completely ignoring Yata. “As for Misaki...” he gave Yata a taunting look, “We were classmates.”

Yata glared back at him. He smirked and continued talking. “Actually, the both of us worked for Mikoto at the same time too.”

“What? You? At Mikoto’s motor shop?” Kusanagi said, his face slightly contorting with disbelief. “Didn’t think you were the type, no offense.”

“None taken,” Fushimi replied. “So, you giving out the drinks or not?”

“Really eager to get drunk eh?” Kusanagi said. “Hold on I’ll get you what you want.”

Kusanagi dragged Fushimi away to the back of the room where a small bar was, leaving Yata and Totsuka, which Fushimi was grateful for. He made Fushimi sit down on one of the stools as he went to the other side of the counter, picking out a bottle from the shelf.

“You rented the whole second floor just so you could play bartender?” Fushimi asked. Aside from the bar at the end of the room and the terrace, there were two long tables in the function room, each with three expensive-looking wine bottles placed in ice buckets. Considering that the bar was Italian, there was food laid out too, ranging from different types of pasta to pizza. Fushimi was pretty sure there was enough for it to be classified as a buffet. Damn the rich and their extravagance.

“I’ll have you know I’m a real bartender by passion,” Kusanagi replied. “That’s how I met your former boss Mikoto and the rest of them.”

“Hn. Got any hard drinks?”

“You’re _way_ too eager to get drunk,” Kusanagi said, getting a shot glass. “Did you just turn twenty* and want to experience the joy of legally drinking alcohol? “

“I’m twenty-three dammit.”

“Yes, yes, just keep telling yourself that,” Kusanagi joked.

To be honest, Fushimi didn’t know why he was that eager to get drunk. Not like alcohol could solve anything. It was more to trick himself, he guessed. To numb down his brain so he wouldn’t have the capacity to think properly. And yes, for once in his life, Fushimi wanted to stop having the ability to think.

“Here you go,” Kusanagi said, sliding a shot glass filled with brown liquor.

“What the hell is this?” Fushimi asked, spinning the shot glass around with his hand, the mystery drink sloshing back and forth.

“Don’t you think it’s better not to know?” Kusanagi replied. “Gives it a sense of mystery. Besides, all you want to do is get drunk right?”

“How do I know this isn’t drugged?”

“Relax. This isn’t one of your thriller mystery novels. Who’d want to drug their own guest at their own wedding?”

“You never know. Wrote a book with a similar plot once.”

“That’s fiction Fushimi. And I really don’t have a reason to kill you… yet.”

“Oh so you’re hoping?”

“Just shut up and drink.”

“Heh, fine.”

Fushimi did as he was told, downing it all in one gulp. As he did, he turned his head to the side, hoping to get a peek of Yata. He was lounging on a chair talking to Totsuka, as what happened had no effect on him. At least that guy wasn’t all that bummed out with him being there, Fushimi thought.

Wait, why did he care?

Stop thinking Fushimi, he said to himself.

Whatever the fuck that drink was, he was pretty sure it was _strong._ Ask and you shall receive, he mused. He put the shot glass down with a slam.

“See it wasn’t that hard, was it?” Kusanagi said. “So you _can_ follow orders.”

“Your future wife has gotten to you, hasn’t she?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re starting to berate me like she does.”

“I believe that you alone have the power to make people hate you, Fushimi.”

“Ooohh I feel so blessed,” Fushimi said sarcastically.

Kusanagi laughed.

“On the contrary, I think you’re alright. A bit of a dick, but alright.”

“Oh how nice of you to say that to someone you just met.”

Just as Fushimi was about to raise his glass to ask for more, loud footsteps broke through the small chatter in the room. He turned around to see who it was. Or rather, were. Great, more people he didn’t want to see.  

“Yo Mikoto!” Kusanagi said. “Back from the shopping trip?”

Mikoto looked the same as always, Fushimi thought. He always had that intense look, as if he were ready to beat the shit out of somebody then and there. His red hair still looked like a lion’s mane, which made him look kingly even though he just wore a plain white shirt, black jeans, and black combat boots. Anna was clinging onto his right hand and three big shopping bags were on his left. Kamamato (was he always that thin?), Bandou, Chitose, Eric, Shouhei and the rest of them, all with big shopping bags, trailed behind him as if it was so natural for them to follow. Fushimi managed a little smile, thinking of how weird the looks of the other tourists would be when they saw them. To be honest they looked like a gang taking a Lolita for hostage. And to think Munakata forced him to wear formal.

“Hn,” Mikoto mumbled. “Anna bought a lot.”

“But they’re for everyone,” Anna said, pulling on the hem of Mikoto’s shirt.

“Yeah we’ll give them all later.”

“Oh?” Kusanagi butt in. “Then what’s with that giant stuffed rabbit?” he continued, pointing at the pink rabbit ears peeking out one of the bags Mikoto was holding.

“That’s… for Yata-chan,” Anna replied.

“Why’d you have to give me a stuffed rabbit?!” Yata yelled.

All of them laughed, with the exception of Fushimi, who was staring at his shot glass like the answer to the universe was written on it.

The group then proceeded to put all their shopping bags in a corner on the far end of the room. Just as they put the bags down, Mikoto eyed Fushimi and nodded to him. He walked to the latter's direction, stopping when he was standing a few inches away from where Fushimi sat.

“Been a while,” he said, taking out a cigarette box from his pocket.

“Yeah. How’s everything at the shop?” Fushimi replied, hoping to only keep the conversation at small talk.

Mikoto lit a stick, rested it on his mouth and took a huff before talking. “Fine. Nothing much has changed. “

“That’s good I suppose.”

“Hn.”

After that rather dull conversation Mikoto pulled up a seat next to him and ordered Kusanagi to give him whatever the latter gave Fushimi.

“Not sure if you two should be in the same room.” Mikoto said, taking another huff and his cigarette.

Oh yeah that’s right, Fushimi thought. Mikoto _knows._

“He seemed pretty okay with it. Gave me a death glare but still okay.”

“Listen. I’d like not to give a fuck about this but Yata still works for me and I don’t want anything like _that_ to happen again.”

“Never thought you’d care enough to say it verbally, Mikoto.”

“Never thought you’d care enough too.”

With that, Mikoto grabbed the shot glass that Kusanagi prepared for him and left.

“What was that about?” Kusanagi said, dropping a shot in front of Fushimi.

“About events long past that I’d rather not disclose.”

“Well whatever. Keep your secrets if they’re really that bad. Not my business.”

“Thanks,” Fushimi said, downing the drink, which was again that mystery liquor.

“Well I’ll be leaving you here now. With a lot of people here I’d say it’s showtime.”

Kusanagi exited the bartender side of the bar, taking with him a wine bottle. He used it to nudge Fushimi by the shoulder.

“Here. Something to keep you company in case you get lonely. Good company too, I think.”

Fushimi took the bottle from Kusanagi with thanks, watching the latter as he went up the front of the function room, where his lovely (?) fiancé was waiting for him. He took her by the arm, smiling, and led her to the middle of the room where everyone could hear him.

“Ah, the blindness of those in love,” Fushimi mumbled to himself. “It’s just you and me now bottle.”

 Wait, did he just talk to a damn bottle? That mystery drink must’ve been stronger than he thought.

Fushimi shrugged it off as he borrowed a cork opener from the mini bar and opened his new buddy. Kusanagi was making some speech with Seri, something about how they were all grateful to be with some wonderful people even before their wedding day. Blah blah blah, he didn’t care anymore. He was just grateful that Kusanagi was kind enough to just leave him be at the mini bar and allowing him to mooch off his wonderful liquor collection to boot. He drank from the wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. That was some good stuff. At least now he could drink as he pleased without Munakata breathing down his back. The man was the one who ordered him to relax after all. Speaking of Munakata… Fushimi grinned when he saw who his editor was with.

He was absolutely, positively sure that his editor, Munakata Reisi, was currently having a thing with his former boss, Suoh Mikoto.

He didn’t know how, he didn’t know why, and he certainly didn’t know when, but it was happening.  

Munakata was sitting at the far back with Mikoto beside him, their backs to Fushimi. Yeah sure, no problem with two guys sitting beside each other. But he knew holding hands and trying to hide said hands beneath the table cloth wasn’t something two dudes do every day. Holy shit. He took another swig of wine from the bottle and chuckled. So _that’s_ why there’d be no fucking random dudes from the beach for Munakata.   

Just as he was going laugh his ass off a bit more he heard his phone beep, signalling that he had a text message. It read:

\---

**New Message fro** **m Munakata Reisi**

**8:56** **pm**

You saw nothing. It never happened.

\---

Fushimi grinned. He looked at Munakata, who was glaring back at him. Fushimi outstretched his arm and did the thumbs up motion to Munakata, drinking from the bottle yet again. He was really enjoying himself way too much. It hasn’t even been half an hour since Kusanagi left him with his new friend and already it was half empty.

Munakata gave him back one last glare before returning his attention to whatever it was Kusanagi was saying. Fushimi, however, sat at the mini bar for the rest of the night, his only companion a wine bottle, chugging it empty.

The rest of the night was a complete blackout.

Though he did distinctly recall three things: a hand, a dick, and a pair of lips.  

Fushimi woke up the next morning, arm covering his eyes. Damn, that morning sun just blared a ray of light directly at his face. More than a million miles away and it was still dead on target. He pushed his upper half up from the softness of the mattress with a groan. His head throbbed like hell. Fuck, he didn’t know how much he drank last night, nor did he know how he got back to his hotel room. Wait...this _was_ his hotel room right? He checked. Yup, it certainly was. He could see a glimpse of the hotel’s pool from his terrace. He checked himself out, as weird as it sounded. His pants were intact, complete with his wallet and phone, which was good news. The dress shirt he wore, however, was crumpled next to him. God he felt like he just starred in _The Hangover_. He pulled out his phone and checked his reflection. Good, there doesn’t seem to be any drastic changes like tattoos or a missing tooth. Content with what he saw he put the phone back in his pocket, picked up his dress shirt, and slipped it on without unbuttoning. He tried rubbing his temples to at least try and appease the pain. It wasn’t working as he thought it would. He sighed and stretched, feeling something by his feet as he did. He didn’t notice that there was a huge lump covered by sheets at the foot of his bed. He kicked it again. It was no pillow that’s for sure. If felt fleshy, like a human body.

Maybe because it was.

He felt a chill down his spine. What the actual fuck did he do last night?

There was only one way to find out whatever that lump really is. Which, of course, would be to take away the sheets hiding it. With a shaky hand he reached out and pulled.

Now seriously what the fuck did he do?

Sleeping at the foot of his bed was the last person he thought he would never be sharing a bed with again. Scratch that, he never even _thought_ about it. He tried doing a double over, closing his eyes, rubbing them hard and then opening them after a few seconds. Unfortunately his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, even if he wished they were. This was the real deal.

In normal situations he’d be extremely calm, maintaining his poker face, analyzing with remarkable tact what to do next, like a character he’s written in his novel.

This wasn’t a normal situation. Nor was this a novel.

In that moment hungover Fushimi Saruhiko did what he never thought he’d do: he screamed. This consequently lead to the startled awakening of the person sleeping at the foot of his bed, Yata Misaki.  

This boy just keeps messing with his life, doesn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In Japan the legal age is twenty.
> 
> I apologize for not being able to update for over two months. In my country, quite ironic to the "summer paradise" I set this story in, school started about the same time I started writing so it's been pretty hectic. I haven't found that much time to write. College sucks yo. But I love it. However, even if it takes me a while, I'm going to see this fic through. So yes please bear with me and thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> What? No lemony M yet? We'll get there soon my pretties.


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